Alice Project
by Motaku1235
Summary: No bullets found on the bodies, they were not poisoned. When an autopsy was performed, it was discovered that all three men had died of heart attacks-at the exact same time. In order for Sherlock to crack the case, he has to play the Witness's game; the Witness being a child. She gives him very subtle clues, her mind a puzzle that Sherlock is excited to put together. (Johnlock!)
1. Prologue

A/N: Sorry, I am American so this is not Brit-picked. If anyone would like to offer I'd be MORE than happy to have you help me. This is my first Sherlock fanfiction as well so please be kind. I am going to try to make this the most interesting as possible for myself mostly.

_"When you eliminate the impossible…whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true."_

**Prolouge:**

"Tick…tock, tick…tock, tick…tock, tick…tock."

_Here we sit in a ring…_

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!"

_Close your eyes now while we sing._

"She's just a kid; I doubt she means anything by being here. Honey, why don't you go home?"

This one had a kind face. He had a kind face unlike that one with a loud voice; unlike the angry one.

_One of us will go and hide._

"Stop being such a girl Thompson."

This one was a handsome man. This new and third one wore a suit and had shiny shoes, unlike the angry one who wore a muddy pair of boots and a ghastly white apron. Both did not try to coddle like the first one with the kind eyes; Thompson as they so called him. Thompson was tall, and wore a gray sweater along with a pair of tan pants.

"Tick…tock, tick…tock, tick…tock."

There was a fourth one. This one made the sound of a clock. He ticked and he tocked with a smile. This one was smart. This one was bad. This one was awfully, terribly smart. This one I knew. This one I knew well. Tick…tock.

"James, would you bloody stop that incessant noise?!" The angry one yelled

"I was simply keeping the beat. How rude." This one I knew stated.

"Keeping beat to what?" Thompson inquired. I liked this one. This one made me feel safe.

"She's obviously singing. Look at her lips. Really you men are so mundane and idiotic that it's tragic."

_Guess who made that space so wide._

It was obvious; at least to me. But to me everything was obvious. Everything was there for you to see. You just had to see it. Humanity was blind. These ones were blind. Even the one I knew, his name James, was blind. Thompson was almost invisible. The other two were disappearing too. Not literal, but they were going to be gone. I could see their deaths reflected in the fourth; in the eyes of the one I knew.

_Guess who made that space so wide._

They were falling. They were going to crash and burn and never come back. They would go to the place where people never returned.

_Here we sit in a ring…_

"We held up our end of the deal Jim, you promised to compensate us." The man in the suit growled menacingly.

_Close your eyes now while we sing…_

This one I knew, he looked at his wristwatch, "Tick…tock, tick…tock, tick…tock. Well you see Michael, I'm just _so_ easily bored—a bad habit of mine, but it is one of my only habits. I'm also quite changeable."

This one I knew turned and looked at me, "Aren't I _child_?"

This one was mocking me. This one was mean. I didn't like this one…I didn't like him. My fists at my waist tightened. This one made me angry. This one knew me as well as I knew him.

"What do you mean?! When do we get the money?!" That one with the apron hollered.

I didn't like that one either; that one with the yelling. The world was noisy enough without unnecessary hollering. The one I knew looked back up at that loud one.

"Oh, that. Well," This one I knew, he smirked, "—_**you don't get any.**_"

"_WHAT?!"_ The politician bellowed.

Thompson cowered slightly at the tone and huddled over by me. I liked this one. This one felt warm. This one…

This one pressed a knife against my neck. My breath hitched and the one I knew simply smiled as if telling me, '_I told you so._'

"James, I will slit this girls throat right here if you do not give us the amount we requested." Thompson stated.

The one I knew stared for a moment before smiling a wide smile; a gleeful and insane smile.

"Ah! A twist! I didn't expect that from you Thompson, a butcher would be more believable—but a headmaster of one of the finest schools in the United Kingdom, using a child as leverage."

"I need that money Jim. Give it to me and nobody gets hurt-"

"Too bad I already saw this coming." The one I knew cut off the one I used to like.

"What?" Thompson frowned.

This one I thought I liked. This one I thought was different. I was wrong.

_One of us will go and hide…_

That one I knew so very well merely moved behind one of the stone structures used to tamper with electrical. That one I knew was hidden from my view.

"Hey! I'll do it!" Thompson warned and my head started to hurt, the migraines were back again.

The knife bit into my skin; the knife that this one was holding, this one that I had trusted foolishly for a brief moment. My fists tightened further…

I felt the knife dig deeper and felt fear; I was frightened by this one, and angry.

"Go ahead~!" Came the voice of the one I knew so well.

The one in the apron pushed Thompson out of the way and grabbed the knife, "Fine! I'll murder this 'ere brat so she's shut for good, then I'm comin' after _you_!"

I closed my eyes and shook with anger and fear. Then the world stopped moving for a brief second.

Three resounding screams echoed around me; making the world awfully noisy; terribly noisy. I found myself glad when they choked and became mere echoes off the stones.

I opened my eyes and they sat in a ring, unmoving and now faded away. Life had left them. That one I knew so well came out with a large grin on his face and simply walked up to me and pressed his lips to my forehead in some kind of affectionate gesture I had yet to learn. He placed something lightweight in my hands.

This one felt cold as he walked away with a skip in his step, "Thank you for your work princess~!"

_Guess who made that space so wide?_

Then he was gone, and I was left alone. I looked at the object that the one I knew had given me. It was a mechanical device, with the letters 'BT' and a rainbow colored sphere on the top and a keyboard of numbers and letters. On the screen there were three numbers typed in; '999'.

I hit the green call button. If the one I knew wanted me to call then I would have to do it, or something bad could happen…worse than him. There was a beep then a kind voice came on, a woman that sounded like she was in her mid-thirties. I liked this one.

"Emergency. Which service?" the woman asked calmly.

I looked around me at the three men who obviously lay dead, "They…aren't moving..."

The woman was silent for a brief moment and there was some keyboard clicks before she spoke again, "Okay, well dear what's your name and how old are you?"

"…there's one in a suit, and one in an apron…one seemed nice but he turned out not to be…"

"Where are you right now? Can you tell me sweetheart?" The woman sounded genuinely concerned and I moved over to the doorway of the roof to see the location of where I was.

"I'm…on the roof of…50-54 Wigmore St."

"Alright, the police are on their way—stay on the line okay? Hello? Hello?"

I had already hit the red button. There was no reason for me to stay on the 'line' as she put it. The call was over and I had given her the information. No matter how much I liked that one, she was as blind as the ones on the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hello there…my name is Sally Donovan. I'm just here for a little chat, is that alright?"

This one had tanned skin and brown hair; obviously given a recent perm. This one wore a heart of sterling silver on a thin chain; obviously worn daily by the slight wear on the edges of it—but it wasn't very expensive, so the sentiment isn't entirely both ways. The person who gave it to this one must obviously be attached in some other way, by a wife most likely. This one knew that very well, but had some hope that they would separate in the near future by the sentiment carried by the necklace given. I felt pity, that necklace was obviously bought a while ago, as shown by the earlier observation of the worn edges implying that the partner's had many chances to cut off said attachment within that given time period but has yet to do so.

I gave her no sign that I had acknowledged her outside from my penetrating gaze as she sat across from me. I could smell the stale scent of coffee and newspaper as the air from the vent blew past her in my direction. Dull. She was an office worker who had been working a long night, not to mention her smile was only half-hearted. This one didn't care. This one didn't care anymore for me than the last one I thought I liked. I didn't move.

"So is there anyone I can call? Your mum perhaps?" This one tried to coax me into speaking.

I said nothing as she scribbled something down on a notepad, my eyes flickered to it and I read her writing upside down.

_Estimated age; 10 or 11, Gender; female, Family N/A, Name N/A, hair color: dark brown, eye color; also brown, Race; assumed Hispanic, and no response to questions._

This one's handwriting was deeply pressed into the paper, I could see crinkles on the side—this one was stressed and wanted very little to do with the likes of me.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Can I at least have a name? I did give you mine after all…" This one gave a light smile.

I supposed that was correct, so I looked up at her with little care besides fulfilling my duties as a polite being.

"…Alice…Project."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Morning After

"Sherlock dear! Have you got something burning in the oven up there?" Mrs. Hudson remarked as she hobbled her way up the rickety staircase towards 221b.

The stench was akin to burnt cakes but with a man like Sherlock Holmes in the building it was more than likely something else…and the land lady wasn't sure she wanted to know exactly what. Usually Sherlock's assumed partner (whether that is a romantic relationship or merely business nobody really felt the need to ask), John Watson, would be there to stop such nonsense experiments from stinking up the entire girth of Baker Street, however as previously stated from a note on Mrs. Hudson's door: _Sorry, I'll be out at the A&E to provide them with extra assistance on a rather large car accident. If he starts becoming too troublesome bring him up some tea if you would. Thanks—JW._

"I'm not their housekeeper; can't understand why they treat me like one." Mrs. Hudson tutted as she gave a brief knock on their door before pushing inside the flat of Watson and Holmes, "Sherlock?"

"Oh please Mrs. Hudson if you're going to come up here every time you smell something burning you'll be going up and down those steps you claim to be so troublesome every other hour." Sherlock drawled as he messed around doing who-knows-what on John's laptop.

It was rather funny really, John used to try and change the password to thwart off the misuse of his laptop, now he still did it, but mostly to try and entertain Sherlock long enough to keep him from troubling the poor Mrs. Hudson. It rarely was. Today's was obvious by the way John had quickly typed it within the few moments before he had to exit the flat for work—when just before then he had been reading quite extensively into Tolkien's _The Hobbit_: _bilbobaggins_. Hardly a challenge.

"Shouldn't be messing about on there, Sherlock, you know how it upsets him when he comes home to see you playing around with it." Mrs. Hudson scolded.

She gave a grunt as she looked about the flat; the stench was indeed coming from their kitchen—but definitely not the oven. Something black was bubbling over on the stove top in one of John's smaller kettles. Mrs. Hudson let out a slight cry in disgust (Sherlock rolled his eyes at this) as she quickly moved and turned off the heat.

"That was an experiment I'll have you know." Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh dear, oh dear. He'll have to buy another one now I suppose. You are so mean to him I swear it's truly a wonder he hasn't put you out on the couch yet." She sighed, "Well…I rather suppose he has now hasn't he."

Indeed, Sherlock was lounging on his usual couch with the violin there in wait for when he ran out of things in the flat to burn and boil with various chemicals. John's laptop lay precariously on his knees as he typed away on his own blog (Though it had far few viewers than a certain Watson's).

"I find your wild visions of our relationship to be rather amazing Mrs. Hudson considering that neither John nor I have given any indication to anything…_romantic_." The genius almost spat the word in disgust.

"Sorry dear. Speaking of the doctor he wanted me to bring you up some—"

"Tea. Yes. He always does doesn't he? It is around the time you would come up here to check on me due to some sentimental note of warning he's taped to your door. My the day is dull." Sherlock sighed and gazed longingly at his phone, "Lestrade is taking his sweet time with this one. I would rather like that cup now though Mrs. Hudson."

"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson stated as she put a new kettle on the flame, "A new case then Sherlock?"

"Judging by the steady increase of police in the traffic outside I'd say there's been a murder; a rather strange one at that." Sherlock hopped up to the window with his hands clasped together.

"Oh yes. Very interesting indeed." He grinned as he watched Detective Inspector Lestrade pull up outside in one of his police vehicles—a distraught expression on his face.

"Baggy eyes, a shirt that I've seen him wear for the second time this week, the first time being yesterday, he has a manila folder in his hands…this is a special case. He doesn't want me at the yard or he would have contacted me…why?" Sherlock mused as Lestrade walked into the flat, his boots making a heavy echo on the thin floorboards.

"No John today?" The DI commented as he closed the door behind him, "Good morning Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson came back from the kitchen and gave a smile of welcoming as she gave Sherlock his cup of tea, "A cup of tea for you also then Detective Inspector? The doctor is out helping the hospital with a large accident."

"I'm afraid I'll have to skip that cup. Sherlock, I have a case—"

"I'm well aware Lestrade. However, why do you carry and envelope of case evidence and photographs instead of taking me to the office for this? You know I don't work with…second-hand evidence. I need the crime scene and the evidence in person. The simple minds of Scotland Yard often miss anything of real importance." Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, the circumstances are rather different than your usual cases—" Lestrade scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh…I see. There's a child involved isn't there?" Sherlock commented, that cocky tone in his voice when he knows that he's been clever.

His 'better-than-thou' tone as John put it. Where was he anyway? Oh yes…helping the common wealth.

"Yes, actually. She was the only witness to three murders of three respectful men; Michael King, a famous American politician that was on holiday, Maxwell Thompson, the headmaster of Westminister School—"

"Westminister?" Sherlock's head came up. That had to be one of the most prestigious schools in all of London, on average only 750 students admitted.

"Yes, and then finally Tyler Atkinson; a butcher at the Ginger Pig on Moxon Street in Marylebone." Lestrade finished.

"Well, did she at least provide you with some insight to what happened?" Sherlock asked, picking up his violin and starting to play—becoming bored with the whole thing.

"No. She won't speak—Donovan claims she is refusing too, while I believe it is due to shock." Lestrade sighed and sat down on the small couch in the middle of the flat.

"Sounds dull. Come back when you have a real case for me." Sherlock sighed.

"I'm getting to the interesting bit." Lestrade promised.

The consulting detective paused and raised an eyebrow to show he was listening.

"The three men have no connections whatsoever. One had a girlfriend, one was happily married with a family, and the other was single and alone. They don't work near each other or in any of the same fields, there are absolutely no connections—one of them isn't even from this country!" Lestrade complained.

"So what? Easily could've been chosen for some reason only known to the killer."

"They all died in a ring, from a heart attack—**at the exact same time**."

"Could've been from a drug. Multiple antibiotics, antipsychotics, and medicines used to treat gastro-intestinal disease cause heartattacks…or so John tells me." Sherlock commented.

"No. Autopsy shows there were no drugs in their system. I double-checked the results with three blood specialists and they all say the same thing. No wounds on the outside or anything of the sort. It was like they were living one second and dropped dead the next." The detective inspector seemed stumped.

"…when did they die?" Sherlock stopped playing.

"About 8 o'clock yesterday morning. Everyone pulled an all-nighter to get the tests done. No evidence on them—well, except for the kid, Alice Project, her blood was found on the knife of Thompson and there was a cut on her neck, but as I said she won't talk."

"Oh my, that poor dear. Who could ever do such a thing to a child? And a headmaster of as well." Mrs. Hudson sniffed.

"Well Detective Inspector, it seems this child is your only way of finding the killer…unless you allow me to go to the scene." Sherlock stated.

"Does this mean you're interested?"

"_Mildly_." Sherlock snorted, "It's hardly interesting enough to warrant an immediate investigation. Plus the only witness we have is a child who probably doesn't know a whistle from a watch."

"I think you two would get along splendidly actually." A voice sneered from the doorway.

The three speculators turned to see Sergeant Sally Donovan in the doorway, a notepad on hand.

"Ah, I believe all of you should leave and come back later—parties do tend to be more up John's alley." Sherlock grunted.

"You would know wouldn't you Freak?" Sally retorted.

"What are you doing her Donovan, I thought I told you to take the girl home?" Lestrade cleared his throat.

"That's the thing. I can't find anything on her."

"Nothing? No school records, family history, hospital records, anything?" the detective inspector stood up with a frown.

Sherlock watched with mild interest when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, well I'll go and get that." Mrs. Hudson remarked before leaving the flat for a brief moment.

"I'm telling you there's nothing. I didn't think her to be a liar—"

"I didn't think you to _think_ at all." Sherlock muttered, "Everybody lies. It's human nature."

"Sherlock, dear, there's a child at the door—small thing she is, and quiet. Didn't mutter a word!" Mrs. Hudson popped her head in.

Donovan groaned, "I told her to stay in the car."

"Oh well at least she's smart enough not to listen to the likes of Donovan." Sherlock continued.

"Shut up Freak or I'll tell your keeper you've been misbehaving." Sally spat, referring to John.

"Will you both please shut up!" Lestrade snapped before turning to Mrs. Hudson, "Can't you keep her down there for a while?"

"Your faith in me is truly insulting." Sherlock commented.

"Seriously, can you imagine him with a child in the room?" Donovan snorted, "She's already in enough 'shock' as it is."

"Enough—" Lestrade started again.

"I'm sorry, but she came up on her own she did." Mrs. Hudson's voice cut him off.

The bickering came to a sudden halt as they all turned to look at the little girl in question. She wore a thin gray overcoat that didn't zip up, but rather had elastic loops that went around diamond shaped buttons to hold the two flaps that made up the coat around the girl's thin waist. Her eyes were rather vacant as she took in the flat; they were a thick dark brown—nothing special stood out about her besides her silence that was rather uncharacteristic for someone who was ten or eleven years old. Her hair was wet from the rain outside, so it looked frizzy and scruffy like a bird's nest that reached down to her collar bone. She didn't smile or make any acknowledgement to the people in the room as she took a seat on the small couch beside Lestrade. Donovan sighed and crouched down in front of her.

"I thought I asked you to wait for me in the car."

The girl said nothing, merely blinked before turning to look at Sherlock, taking him in. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as the girl stood up and walked over to him, tugging on his sleeve.

"What do you want?" Sherlock frowned, feeling uncomfortable.

"_Here we sit in a ring, close your eyes now while we sing, one of us will go and hide, guess who made that space so wide?_" She sang softly, "Four people plus one more."

Then she was quiet again before sitting down by Lestrade who looked utterly confused, "Are you saying there were five people on the roof?"

She shook her head no and Sherlock grinned, "Lestrade, I will take this case. Mrs. Hudson, give this poor girl here a nice cup of tea, she'll be with us for a while."

"Sherlock what do you mean? What's gotten you so interested?" Lestrade frowned as Mrs. Hudson led the girl into the kitchen.

"Don't you see?! There were not five people on the roof. There were four. Plus one! The killer wasn't human." Sherlock smirked, "It was something that she saw, and it had to have been something out of the norm or she would have told you right away. If it had been a bee or something she would be dead too and definitely not in shock—no it was something larger, something that would have scared her. But something that wouldn't leave behind any evidence…this is going to be something interesting indeed."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: I probably won't update regularly. But I will continue trying my best to do it as soon as I have the time.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sherlock. If I did, Johnlock would be canon by now.

Chapter 2: The First Incident

"Sherlock, she can't just…stay here." Lestrade reasoned as Sherlock started playing his violin again and Mrs. Hudson gleefully brought Alice into the kitchen with her to give the girl a cup of tea.

"Why? Does she have any other immediate plans that would cause her staying here to become inconvenient?" Sherlock questioned rhetorically, knowing they had nothing on her family's wherebouts, "Besides, Sally doesn't have room in her bed outside of Anderson's clumsy attempts at an affair."

"You and John are two grown men Sherlock. Even you have to admit that it's not very appropriate living conditions for a teenage girl."

"I'm saying that if you want this case to be closed before your culprit is shipped away on the next flight to the Cuban peninsula, you will allow me to question the witness—despite her age—as I would any other." Sherlock protested.

"No Sherlock. For a moment think about it from a normal person's point of view—"

"Oh I'd perish the thought of diluting myself to your level Lestrade."

Gregory Lestrade sighed and slumped against the wall in exhaustion. He hated trying to explain cultural ethics to a man as abnormal as Sherlock Holmes. He considered calling Mycroft—despite how much he despised the elder Holmes as much as he could barely stand the younger. Perhaps John was finished at the A&E—

The DI sat up suddenly, a spark of understanding and genius in his eyes as he physically stood straighter. Sherlock continued to play a series of semiquavers and sixteenths. Lestrade cleared his throat, but the man with the violin didn't acknowledge that the DI had done anything at all.

"Okay then…what would John say?" Lestrade glared pointedly.

Sherlock's composition ended abruptly with a high pitched squeak of the bow ripping against the strings, and Lestrade knew he'd used the key word. The DI continued speaking while he had Sherlock in his grasp.

"He deserves to have a say in this. He's your flat mate after all. Do you really think he would agree to something like this?"

"He knows my methods." Sherlock stated, setting down his violin with an indignant scowl on his face.

"Maybe, but do you know his ethics? Would they coincide with this?" Lestrade pressed on.

"Don't try to play a saint Lestrade. It hardly suits you." Sherlock snorted as he picked up his phone, "Now then, I assume you've already got into contact with the families of the victims. I want to be there when you bring the assumed suspects in for questioning since you didn't think it necessary for me to test their reactions for any signs of suspicion."

"That's police business Sherlock. You can't be there during questioning." Lestrade protested further.

"Lestrade, you've already butchered this case enough as it is. Don't try and embarrass yourself and those idiots you call a staff any further." Sherlock ignored the DI's attempts at reasoning.

"Oh Sherlock, stop that nonsense. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson huffed as she came back in with Alice at her side.

The young girl who had started the whole commotion simply blinked uncaringly as she munched on a small cookie that Mrs. Hudson had given her. She seemed rather content and innocent in her mannerisms. DI Lestrade looked in her eyes for any signs of discomfort, irritation, or anything that would make her seem more like a child. He got chills up his spine from the feeling of intrusion and simply bizarre from the girl.

"_Do_ shut up Mrs. Hudson."

Suddenly everything went black and all Sherlock could remember were the brown eyes suddenly changing into golden irises of the little girl beside his landlady, looking completely calm as she let her small cookie drop to the floor like a drop of rainwater on a stormy night; unnoticed and among millions.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?"

Sherlock groaned as he heard a voice in the midst of the sea of darkness. He was unconscious, that much was obvious. He had to get up…recognize the voice.

"He was just standing there one second and then out on the floor the next." A scratchier voice sounded.

"Doctor Watson, the clinic called. They were wondering if you had planned on coming in at all today?" This was a newer voice.

"Oh sorry. Tell Hannigan to take over for me. I need to…well, he's a special case."

Doctor Watson…John. That was John; his flat mate and friend. The light in the distance started to get brighter and he heard beeping. How annoying, and what was that tugging sensation on his elbows.

"John…get these needles out of me. I'm fine." Sherlock croaked as he found himself in a hospital room at St. Bartholomew's.

"Sherlock, you passed out. I don't think that qualifies as fine." John sighed in relief, "And what's this about a child staying at the flat?"

Lestrade stood off in the corner and looked away from Sherlock's accusing glare at the end of John's question. The nurse that he'd heard nodded at John and then left to go do whatever it was she was supposed to be doing. Sherlock scoffed and tugged out the IV needles and pulling off the stickers on his chest that kept track of his heart beat. He tried to get off the bed but John pushed him back down.

"You can't seriously think I would let you leave before I know what's going on." John speculated.

"I'm not sick. It was that girl." Sherlock protested and pushed John away to grab the clothes he saw in the corner opposite to Lestrade, "She did something to me."

"What?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock I was standing right there when it happened. She didn't even touch you."

"Her eyes. I know what I saw. John, do what you must to get us out of this place as quickly as possible. We've wasted enough time as it is." The consulting detective frowned, his face scrunched up, "Lestrade. Is the girl still at the flat?"

"Mrs. Hudson offered to have Alice stay with her for the time being." The DI stated, "You can't seriously be thinking—"

"Sherlock, what did you see?" John asked a bit warily, cutting Lestrade off, as Sherlock moved towards the door in a rush.

The younger Holmes turned his icy grey eyes on John and shook him by the shoulders, "Her eyes John! They _changed_. That's the last thing I remember, and unless our lovely landlady happened to drug me, that child had something to do with this."

As he tried to leave again John caught his shoulder and looked at him with concern, "Sherlock…that doesn't make sense."

"I know what I saw…" Sherlock scoffed, "And unlike before, this time I am left without any speculation. I don't _doubt_ myself this time. Everything else in the room was exactly the same."

John sighed, "Fine. Then what do you want to do about this?"

"I do believe I need to have a chat with our guest."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I see. Seems Baskerville is in need of some…improvements."

Mycroft Holmes was calm as he stared jadedly at the empty room before him. It was a pure white room, empty except for a cot bolted to the floor, the door to the lab, and the glass from the broken observation window that should've set off an alarm. Next to the window was a metal plaque that read: E1235Project Alice: _Arrows Laden In Centric Elevations_.

Mycroft sighed and turned towards the man in charge of security, Major Barrymore.

"I won't stand for this! I'll bet it was one of you black and white men who planned this. All of you, and that man a few months ago too with that petty excuse for a military man, coming in unannounced…" The Major growled.

"Major, as your superior I humbly suggest that you shut up. You are already facing suspension if not a complete transfer at this point. Now then…care to explain why the government's most valuable weapon has managed to be stolen under your guard?" Mycroft's smile was anything but kind and the air was rancid with rage.

The elder Holmes brother's hands twisted around his umbrella. The eerie silence lasted for a few moments before it was broken by a high chirping of Mycroft's rarely ringing cell phone. He raised his eyebrows and Anthea looked up from her phone with mild surprise as he pulled it out and warily answered it.

"Hello?"

"_Hello Mr. Iceman. Missing something?_" The voice seemed to grin on the other end.

Mycroft visibly straightened and quickly composed himself, "Moriarty I presume?"

"_Introductions are so dull nowadays, wouldn't you agree?_" The man on the other end chuckled, "_Don't bother with a trace on this phone Mycroft. I'll be long gone by then. You see, I have some catching up to do with a friend of mine…a rather __**young**__ friend of mine._"

"I'd hate to have to break up that engagement. However…is it really a friendship if it is between a man and her captor?" Mycroft sneered.

"_It's more of the knight in shining armor coming down to rescue the pretty princess from the evil dragon._" Moriarty stated, as if telling a bedtime story, "_Though in this case, a princess with a rather…__**inhuman trait.**__ Your little brother has seen some of her work already. I'm sure you'll be watching. Take care Mycroft Holmes, or rather, __**good luck.**_"

With those last two defining words, the call ended and Mycroft turned to Anthea, "Prepare the jet for London. It seems my little brother has gotten himself into rather dangerous trouble once again."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:**** Okay, guys, you get your real johnlockiness now. However, you will not like how Sherlock participates in the relationship. I promise to make a happy scene with them before this mystery is through! Also...more insight on Alice. Is she human? Or not? I won't tell you. Sorry. ^-^ R&R if you can. **

Chapter 3: Barely Human

_She was the only witness to three murders of three respectful men; Michael King, a famous American politician that was on holiday, Maxwell Thompson, the headmaster of Westminister School, and a local butcher.  
_

Sherlock Holmes sat in the small loveseat across from the rather plush chair in the small living room he shared with Dr. John Watson. His eyes peered across the small way to the small child sitting on said chair and looking much unperturbed as she stared back at him with little to none of the same intensity as his gaze. John sat next to his flat mate and warily watched the rather unsettling scene of a small child keeping up with the stare of Sherlock Holmes; a man with a (more often than not) rather unsettling glare.

Unable to stand the awkward feeling of stillness and silence in the air, John cleared his throat. He soon realized that the one thing even more unsettling than watching these two abnormal beings stare down each other was having those stares suddenly turn onto him.

It was rather late when Mrs. Hudson had brought Alice upstairs upon Sherlock's request, and thirty minutes of pure silence later John had yet to be introduced—neither by himself (too fearful of breaking the eerie silence) or Sherlock (whom John had really learned to stop expecting better from). Therefore, it was rather overdue when John held out his hand towards Alice.

"Hello there, my name's John Watson. I'm Sherlock's…friend."

No doubt that brief pause had brought up some rather unpleasant deductions in Sherlock's fast-working brain, but John didn't really want to have to tell his flat mate to piss off this late in the evening when already so much had happened. The girl looked between him and his hand for a few moments before shaking it warily—like she'd never done so before.

"I'm…Alice…Project." She stated with a rather small, but altogether sweet voice.

When she talked, John found it quite difficult to distinguish the strange girl who held Sherlock's gaze from a normal eleven year old frightened by the painful sight of instant death. He smiled warmly.

"It's nice to meet you Alice. We're just going to ask you a few things if that's alright. Just like I'm sure Ms. Donovan did earlier."

Sherlock shamelessly rolled his eyes at John's attempts at mothering what he was concluding to be either a viable witness or a guilty suspect. He stood up and started pacing the floor behind John. The girl gave a slight nod towards the doctor who smiled again and leaned back.

"This one…I like." The girl spoke again.

Sherlock stopped and his head snapped towards the girl as she looked more intently at John.

"This one…is a doctor. This one is a soldier—but not the ones I know very well. This one cares for the one behind him…though that one does not deserve it. This one is tired. This one is hungry. This one is also…nervous. This one is afraid." The girl continued, cocking her head curiously at John's expression towards the end of her mantra.

John was indeed afraid. It wasn't the fact that Alice was talking in third person…

It was the fact that, overwhelmingly, she had made nearly the same deductions as Sherlock had made in their first encounter. Sherlock seemed to change his demeanor slightly as he sat down once more.

"This one is not like the others. This one is like me. This one is afraid too…but not of me. No. Not of me. This one…I feel like I know this one very well." Alice continued, her gaze turning towards Sherlock her eyes filled with an innocent wonder.

"Did he save you too?"

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"Sherlock. You have to be _joking_. There's no way that she's a murderer. She's just a child." John protested as Sherlock dragged him into the kitchen.

"You're view on juvenile criminal activity is getting increasingly limited John." Sherlock stated without any real bite in his tone as he dug around the island looking for his nicotine patches among his multiple experiments with vigor.

"It's not just the fact this doesn't fit with my ethics." John gently curled his arms around Sherlock's neck, "Physically she's not capable to do anything. As a human being she can't make someone have a heart attack just by thinking it. Even if that were true…then you wouldn't be alive."

Sherlock sighed and leaned his cheek on John's arms, "John…let go."

It was hard to keep their relationship behind closed doors. Never touching except for brief moments, acting platonic in moments of romance, but it had to be done for both their sakes until Moriarty was caught. The consulting detective could remember the cold rush that went through his blood, turning it to ice when he saw John step out at Bristol South Swimming Pool when they had met Moriarty face-to-face for the first time. That brief moment of doubt, of heartbreak, was enough to last a lifetime. If John were stolen from him again…he didn't know if he could live through that. Such a strong weakness frightened him.

"…I really don't want to." John let his head fall against Sherlock's neck, hearing his heart beat steadily in his ear.

"…Just for a little while, John." Sherlock condoned as he leaned back into John's comforting embrace and repeated in a whisper, "Just for a little while."

Sherlock knew that this was just a chemical defect of his mind. He knew that they had only known each other for about a year now, but it felt like longer. He hated it; this sentiment.

"I love you." John murmured.

As per usual, Sherlock did not reply.

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"Really though, I don't think you really need four patches Sherlock. Not right now." John sighed as Sherlock pulled them out.

"Oh, stop your fretting John. These aren't for me. Rather…they're for her." Sherlock said as he finished snipping the last one off of the chain, not giving John a chance to stop him before he moved back into the living room.

"Sherlock!" John yelled as soon as what Sherlock just said hit him, "Sherlock you can't! That's poison!"

"Please, it's not as if it will kill her." The consulting detective scoffed as he started putting the patches on the girl's arm.

He managed to get two on before John pulled him off, the girl just blinked in subtle surprise, but was otherwise seemingly unaware of the inevitable poison spinning through her body. John came to her with his stethoscope and pressed it to her chest and looked at his watch. Sherlock gave a slight grunt as he sat up from where John had thrown him.

John looked panicked, "She's going into cardiac arrest. Sherlock, call an ambulance!"

Alice just looked at him with a cocked head as he continued to listen to her heart beat at almost twice the speed, "This one is…caring."

"John. I told you before that she was the killer. It's inevitable, a defense system in her DNA. That headmaster of Westminister, the butcher, and that American politician were a danger…she simply eliminated the danger." Sherlock stated calmly, not even looking for the phone.

"She should be going unconscious…she should be _dead _Sherlock!" John sweated, ignoring Sherlock's words.

"Indeed, any normal human would have died already Dr. Watson." Came a new voice from the door way.

Sherlock glared, "That would be true…if she was a normal human. Need I ask what it is you're doing here Mycroft?"

Mycroft Holmes stood at the doorway with two men in hazmat suits carrying weirdly formed guns in their hands at his side. He looked incredibly displeased, something that usually would be carefully hidden beneath a mask of indifference. Alice Project let out a small whimper and hid behind John at the sight of Mycroft. The elder brother's gaze turned in her direction and Mycroft pointed his umbrella at her.

"Someone's been _awfully_ naughty hasn't she?"


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: There's a kiss in this chapter…but it really isn't truly romance based. Sorry. XD Also there's a lot of scientific stuff. I'll summarize Mycrofts long speech in an A/N on the bottom. R&R if possible.

Chapter 4: Frere Jacques

"_Someone's been _awfully_ naughty hasn't she?"_

"Experimenting on children Mycroft, I thought mother expected better of you." Sherlock frowned, looking rather pissed off with his half-smirk and his arms crossed.

Mycroft merely grunted, "I don't have time for your childish bantering little brother. This is merely a business visit."

He turned to the men in hazmat suits and cracked his neck, "Retrieve the weapon. I'd rather have this over with as soon as possible."

The men started moving forward and Alice let out a small cry. It broke John's heart.

_Frere Jacques, frere Jacques,Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?_

He turned around and looked at what Mycroft was referring to as a weapon and what Sherlock was referring to as a murderer. She looked up at him with sad little brown eyes filled with tears. They flashed gold and suddenly John couldn't look away. Her small hands found his and she grimaced with sadness, sniffling like a child, "John…don't let them take me away. I'm scared."

_Sonnet les mantines, sonnet les mantines: _

John felt his heart start to shatter even further and the world around him was suddenly very slow…or was it his mind that was moving too fast. All he knew was that his heart was suddenly racing at all too fast of a beat, his skin was sweating, and his muscles were burning like he needed to run from something…or fight with something.

_Ding-dang-dong, ding-dang-dong._

"John. I'm scared. They're going to hurt me…" Her voice was weirdly distorted. Her lips weren't moving, but that was surely her voice…

He needed to protect that voice.

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"John?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as his secret-partner seemed to freeze. The men in the hazmat suits picked up Alice by her shoulders, ready to take her away back to wherever she was spawned from. The consulting detective noticed the subtle signs of an explosion about to happen.

John's jugular was pulsing faster as his heart rate accelerated, Sherlock could notice the subtle shaking of his form and the army surgeon's chest rising and falling faster. Mycroft seemed to notice this too as Sherlock went around and looked in the doctor's eyes.

Pupils were dilated and he wasn't looking at Sherlock, but rather at the girl behind him.

Alice let out another small cry as the men started to carry her out the door; their eyes were covered with a black screen so she couldn't do anything to them. That was when it happened.

John let out a low and animalistic growl before tackling the men in the hazmat suits. It was a fearsome rage as he hit them left and right, they managed to shoot some strange substance out of their guns, but it seemed to have a harmless effect on him. Sherlock pushed John out of the way and tried to hold him down. John struggled and tried to bit at him angrily.

"John, bloody snap out of it!" Sherlock growled.

Alice only stayed for a few more moments before moving down the staircase, running loose for the moment and planning to get somewhere safer than here.

"_This one isn't listening._" John's voice was very breathy, but those words were not his own and Sherlock felt a cold shiver go down his spine.

Mycroft growled, "He needs a shock, figure something out."

The elder Holmes brother pulled out his phone and talked to someone on the other end after composing himself slightly, moving downstairs into the hallway for a moment and closing the door behind him "Have some of your foot soldiers come to 221b. Two men are injured. Also your witness is now on the run, do well to find her before someone else does."

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"John!"

"_This one…do you love him? I can tell…that this one is sad. So very sad._" John said it without malice, simply stating a fact, but tears were falling from his eyes.

Sherlock felt that panic rise within him again, that slow cold-churning panic in his stomach. His eyes were slightly wet, and he blamed it on the dust in the room. Would John be able to come back to him? Was he gone forever? The man below him, his greatest weakness, started to try and thrust his head up to injure the man above him. What was he supposed to do?

_He needs a shock…_

A shock…

John growled at him and Sherlock sighed, "You are stubborn as ever, even in a trance. Hopeless…"

Sherlock carefully snuck his hand around John's neck and through the back of his hair, making even a feral John Watson slightly confused as he continued thrashing around now that Sherlock had let one of the hands around his wrists free. He bludgeoned Sherlock's face with his fist, but the consulting detective seemed unaffected as he pressed his lips against John's in a swift fashion before letting the doctor go.

As expected and with Sherlock's silent relief, John's eyes were wider than ever and quickly managed to go back to their normal shade of gray-blue like a gray shade of snow.

"Sherlock…what did you…" John touched his lips with his fingertips and a blush coated his face.

It had been a long time since John had seen or felt even briefly some initiated affection by Sherlock. A_ very_ long time…

Sherlock quickly turned his head away from John's hopeful eyes and stood up, wiping the small cut from John's blow to his face with the corner of a napkin, "You were taken over by a child. Really, I would think someone who fought in Afghanistan would be less susceptible to that sort of thing."

John was silent for a moment as the happy feeling faded away and a bout of anger came in its place, "…that's not funny Sherlock."

"It wasn't meant to be. I told you she was dangerous. You should've listened to me!" Sherlock spat.

_You could've gotten hurt…What if I hadn't been able to save you?...I was scared._

_I was scared._

Sherlock bit his lip and looked out the window, his eyes wet with unnecessary tears. John's angered expression softened and the words left unsaid were not forgotten. The soldier sighed and ran a hand along his neck, "I'm okay. All I've got is a slight crick in my neck and a bit of a scuff on my knuckles…I'm sorry I hit you, though most of the time you _do_ deserve it."

"Feel glad that is all you have wrong with you Dr. Watson. Project Alice could have done so much more…seems that she's favored you. Though I don't expect the next time either of you will be so lucky." Mycroft frowned as he walked back into the flat.

"Still hanging around? Doing some of the ground-work could do _wonders_ for your diet Mycroft." Sherlock sneered.

"Underlings are paid for a reason, dear brother." The elder Holmes brother looked around distastefully at the two men in hazmat suits still unconscious on the floor.

John ignored both of them, "What is this then? This whole Project Alice nonsense."

Mycroft let out a sigh and took it upon himself to take a seat in the desk chair. Sherlock leaned against the wall while John was content to stand beside him. The sun was slowly rising into the sky, dawn already passing them by and John's eyelids becoming lower with every minute.

"Alice is an acronym for Arrows Laced in Centric Elevations. Through genetic editing, we've been able to accomplish a short-range weapon with the ability to kill on sight alone, the only warning being the changing of iris chemical compounds because the energy must build up and come from somewhere. This energy is then expelled in a controlled matter by the will of the weapon itself. We call this energy an arrow because it is always a straight shot from the eyes of the weapon…in short, if you are seen and the weapon has intent to kill—it is almost 100% inevitability of your immediate death."

"But when Sherlock was attacked, he didn't die." John frowned.

"The weapon did not have the intent to kill. Some revelations came to light shortly before Project Alice was stolen from Baskerville. They are called Centric Elevations because the way the expelled energy kills is by elevating the heart rate of the victim to a point of death."

"The heart attacks." Sherlock stated, with a pointed look at John who ignored him for a moment.

"However…it was shown that Alice could also elevate chemicals and hormones within the body. Creating feelings of compassion, hatred, and in one case the weapon was even able to create hallucinations in one of the scientists—made him believe that he was her older brother. He was transferred after attempting to take her away from the laboratory. Alice was violent for a few days afterwards, she was not programmed socially to have feelings (troublesome things)…the development resulted in a pending decision on the Project's permanent…_**termination.**_" Mycroft twisted his hands around his umbrella.

"Wait…" John looked back at Sherlock whose expression was as serious as his brother's, and gave a nervous laugh, "You can't seriously be considering killing a child."

"Yes, isn't there some of those law-things that prevent such things from happening?" Sherlock waved a hand around.

"Under government law…the weapon is not recognized as a child. It is recognized as E1235Project A.L.I.C.E" Mycroft stated, "Detective Inspector Lestrade will be here shortly to deal with these two fools you made a mess of. Do not interfere Sherlock…or you Dr. Watson."

As the door closed there was a few moments of silence before John turned to his partner, "Do you think that was meant as an order Sherlock?"

"Hmm…" Sherlock smirked, "I'd say it was more of a supercilious suggestion. Ready?"

"Always."

The two of them quickly grabbed their coats and made a beeline for the door.

A/N: Okay. Alice can shine her eyes and make stuff in your body hike up. Like low blood pressure into high blood pressure and such. Adrenaline, oxygen, etc. In theory anything your body could do, she can make happen.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Yes, it was indeed rushed along with the last chapter as my lovely reader Elinor pointed out. (I love you! XD) But I had to do it, and you may understand why or you may not. Either way, I will write this thing out so the plot bunnies don't murder me for not letting them run free all over my word document.

**Warning:** Mentions of drug abuse.

Chapter 5: The Man Who Smelled Like London

"Do you have a plan then?" John asked and Sherlock just gave him this look that said it all. The soldier shook his head with a slight laugh, "Stupid question."

"I would say so." Sherlock grunted.

The air around them was thick with the humidity of morning dew and evening rain that had stopped a bit earlier. The sky was filled with clouds painted with lavender and rose colors from the rising sun. John Watson wished that he and his partner, the infamous Sherlock Holmes, could enjoy the view, however, they were in pursuit of a _very _dangerous, but small child. They managed to follow her wet footprints for a few blocks, a puddle in front of the flat that the girl had run through in her grand escape. The sun was rising even higher, and John assumed the time to be around 7 in the morning. He looked around for a clock through the shop windows.

"6:35, John." Sherlock stated, knowing that was what John was searching for along the different shops surrounding them.

"Right. Well, I can conclude that we've lost her trail now." John leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"It would seem so." Sherlock breathed heavily as he went to the edge of the sidewalk and raised his hand towards the middle of the street. John recognized the gesture.

"Hailing a cab?" The doctor raised an eyebrow, "We're not going back to the flat…"

"Excellent observation John." Sherlock stated blandly in the same tone he would use _Dull._

The cab pulled up with a screeching halt and Sherlock looked at the cabbie (this was becoming a habit of his, but John wisely didn't ask Sherlock to explain. It was rather obvious) before going inside. John slipped in beside him after Sherlock told the cabbie where to take them.

"So…where _are_ we going then?" The doctor sighed, already exhausted.

"To enlist some help from a few good friends." Sherlock gave a quirked smile, and in a bout of surprising affection he grasped John's hand.

John looked up at his partner (business and otherwise) with slight shock. Sherlock gave a small smile and squeezed tighter.

"It won't be long John. Just a little while."

They both knew he wasn't talking about the cab-ride, and John smiled. Outside of that the cab ride was uneventful and lasted for only a few moments until it came to a stop outside a very familiar place and John groaned.

"Don't tell me you need more paint advice Sherlock?"

"Not this time John." Sherlock grinned as they came out to stand in Trafalgar Square.

A small beggar woman sat on the steps to the National Gallery, Sherlock approached her and she grinned slyly, "Change? Any change today?"

"For a nice cup of tea I assume." Sherlock smirked slightly as well and gave her fifty quid and a note.

"Thanks." The woman cackled and pocketed the change along with the note."

"And now we wait…"John sighed as they walked away.

As Sherlock hailed another cab, John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He whipped his head around on instinct and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Nothing…it's nothing." John shook his head in confusion as they slipped into the cab, but his eyes were wary as he looked about them. Sherlock did the same before they slipped into the cab and went off towards 221b.

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_Run…_

The sky was lighter with the oncoming dawn and a small girl in a coat soaked with the evening rain, her body managing to keep up with her overwhelming speed until she had reached the very bowels of this place the ones she knew called "London". The girl, called Alice Project, sat down on the dirty pavement of the alleyway she had ended up in; Lost and alone. The cold of the early morning was biting at her damp skin and hair. She looked akin to a drenched rat from the sewers, but not nearly as bad as the ones she could see around her.

They were after her; those ones she knew so well. A feeling so foreign to her body came over her…

Alice was frightened of them. Of those ones she knew so well; the one with the umbrella and those ones in white suits. He eyes were wet…why were her eyes wet? The last time her eyes had been wet was when she had experienced the feeling that one who saved her called "freedom".

She was not experiencing freedom. She was experiencing fear.

Where would she go? She was alone.

"My…mother…I want mother…" She cried.

She could remember the one time she had spoke this to one; that one with the warm smile who was kind. Before she had made that one into her brother and that one was taken away from her.

That one had wet eyes when she had told him. That one had wrapped his arms around her in a gesture he later told her to be a "hug." It was the nicest feeling any of those ones had given her and allowed her to feel, but his words were bitter.

"_I'm sorry, but your mother is not allowed to see you."_

This, she could tell, was a lie. But whether or not it was a kind one, she was unsure as that one she made into her brother left the white room that served as her cage.

"What's a kid like you doin out 'ere?" a gruff voice growled at her.

Alice did not answer but looked up at the one who was talking to her. This one was old, and had a very scruffy face. This one had hard, small, but concerned eyes. This one wore a fishing vest that was covered in brown slime along with his red and brown checkered long-sleeved shirt beneath it. This one smelled of the ground she sat on, and looked very much like it as well. This one smelled of London. This one had a hat that cast a shadow over his eyes…she liked his eyes.

This one gave a grunt as he jerkily sat down beside her and pulled out something that looked like white powder and a straw. She did not ask what it was as they fell into a comfortable silence, outside of his noisy snorts of whatever that white powder was. This one sighed in relief as he finished sniffing the powder.

"So are'ya lost baby girl? Got no mum ta come'n take'ya home?" This one hacked.

She shook her head and he tried to stop coughing, this one's voice was very rough when he spoke again. Alice felt the wetness of her eyes again when this one brought up her mother.

"Runaway?" This one grunted in his gruff tone, "What's yer name at any rate?"

"No home to run from…This one talks about my mother…I never met my mother…" Alice pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on them, "Alone…and the ones I know very well call me Alice Project."

This one seemed to freeze for a moment before sighing and grasping her shoulder, giving it a gentle shake as he used her to stand up.

"I see. Well babygirl…we'll find ya mom. How 'bout dat?" The man gave a grunt and offered her his hand, "I was quite the gent back in da days when I had 'nuff money to push 'round. Coke took dat away. Let's see if I can still can get 'er right, ya?"

She smiled (though she wasn't sure what Coke was, it must have been something terrible enough to take away all of this one's money) as she took this one's hand. It was a nice feeling…compared to the feeling of wet eyes, as she allowed herself to be led by the one who made her smile.

"This one…what is this one's name?"

"Ay! Hadn't I told ya that yet? Blimey!" This one shook his head and spoke in a voice as if he had committed a great sin, she felt something bubble in her chest and she let out the bubbles in a form of shaking and small sounds coming out of her throat.

This one smiled at the strange bubbles coming from her chest, "Find me funny do ya? Yer laughing quite a lot. Bad accent ain't it?"

She didn't know, but the bubbles slowed down into small little ones that eventually repressed into nothing. This one grinned, as if pleased.

"My name's Phillip Groton, but everyone calls me Appa. Yer gonna be fine, we'll get ya back to where ya belong."

"This one talks of 'we'. Who are 'we'?" Alice asked.

"Talk a bit funny yourself dontcha? Call me Appa; not "this one"."

Alice furrowed her eyebrows and tried to rephrase her statement, "Appa talks of 'we'. Who are 'we'?"

"That's better. Using a name gives man a soul. Man ain't worth the slick on his tongue if he ain't got a soul." Appa grunted as he pulled her around a corner into a tunnel.

Alice stood in slight surprise as she saw fifty or more people who looked more or less like this one—Appa. They all looked at Appa and a few waved, one of the female ones came up and grinned at Alice, wrapping a very tattered blanket around her shoulders.

"Who's this old man? Bit young for you." The woman had bubbles come out of her chest too…laughter as Appa called it.

"She's all alone Angie. Had to take 'er home." Appa grunted and gestured to the array of people sitting around at least five burning trashcans.

"Alice?"

Alice turned to look at him and he grinned.

"Welcome to the Baker Street Irregulars."


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry I've taken so long! (I got a virus, AP testing, finals, etc.) But I will finish this. I have sworn. Alice deserves that despite my unhealthy motif of leaving stories uncompleted due to another plot bunny. And thank you to my new favorites! It makes my day!

**Warning: Violence, drug abuse, my attempt at angst, etc.**

Chapter 6: Evolution

"_Darkness is in reality the absence of light."_—Albert Einstein

"She's not with them." Sebastian grunted into his mic as he slid back into the National Gallery and started to follow the woman that Holmes had spoken to, "But I've got something."

"Good doggie, but do hurry, this game of fetch is starting to become tiresome." Moriarty's voice replied with a dramatic sigh.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "Yes sir."

Sebastian Moran…the second in command of a hidden army, or rather, a hidden business. He quickly followed the woman, suspected homeless with a substance abuse problem, and waited until she went into a deserted alleyway before coming up behind her and pressing a barrel to her neck. She gave a small cry that Sebastian quickly silenced with a gloved hand.

"I'm going to be rather quick about my business since this alley smells like rotting flesh. The man you just talked to, Sherlock Holmes, he gave you something. Show it to me."

The woman started sobbing and Sebastian rolled his eyes, sighing as he pressed the gun harder.

"You have ten seconds before I kill you and take it anyway. Think."

She did for a brief moment and in a fast scramble she reached into her pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper with a note scribbled on it along with 50 quid. Sebastian took it from her and let go of her mouth, but kept the barrel at her throat.

"_Alice Project, age estimated around 10 or 11_, _hair color: dark brown, eye color; also brown, Race: Hispanic. Does not use names. Will be socially inept. Deliver to Speedys ASAP." _Sebastian read aloud with a smug grin.

"Please…let me go! I haven't done anything!"

Sebastian pocketed the note and gave the woman back her fifty quid, but he did not remove the gun, much to her concern. She started to hyperventilate.

"One question before I let you go…what is the one thing I'm never supposed to leave behind?"

"I-I don't know! Please!"

He sighed and shook his head, "I'll tell you."

The gunshot was effectively silenced and the woman's body fell to the ground. Sebastian clicked his tongue, pulled out the bullet and pocketed it. He chuckled, a wicked grin adorning his features as he stepped over her corpse and out of the alley, a hooded man coming out from around the corner. Sebastian handed him the note.

"Make sure to find this girl, keep her alive and well and I'll make sure my employer hears about it." Moran stated, "I know you and your gang have been trying to get on his good side."

"Consider it done…say, what _is_ the one thing you never leave behind?" The hooded man grinned.

Sebastian smirked and patted the man's shoulder as they separated.

"Loose ends."

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Alice sat with Appa on a sheet; the only thing separating them from the disgusting grime on the alley's ground beneath. He was very fidgety, but the one called Angie said it was normal.

"Angie, Alice, and Appa. What 'we havin, an AAA meeting?" Appa croaked.

"Oh quiet you old dog." Angie shook her head, "We have to discuss what we're going to do about this."

She stood up, motioning for Appa to follow her as she moved a few paces away on the other side of the tunnel they'd occupied. Appa raised an eyebrow and motioned for Alice to stay put as he walked over. Alice watched the one called Angie roughly point a finger and poke Appa's chest. The girl weapon listened in with the precision and skill of an experienced spy.

The one named Angie was using her name.

"Gordon." She scolded Appa, "Alice cannot stay here."

"An' why in blazes not?" Appa grunted, feeling rather defensive.

Angie's eyes turned sad and she gestured around them, "Gordon, look around us! Do you see any other children mulling about? They don't deserve this, and neither does she."

"She'll be as fit as a fiddle. Baby ain't got none elsewhere t'go does she?"

"Gordon, what happens when you have one of your fits over the cocaine?" Angie frowned, "What happens when it's not me or one of the other girls you hit when you get drunk?"

Appa had the right mind to look ashamed, his eyes tearing up, "Angie…I lost m'daughter already. 'Bout her age. The man offer'd me two bricks of Ice fer her. I need redemption…this guilt is killin' me."

Angie snorted in disgust, "It's the drugs that are killing you Gordon…"

"Den I'll quit!" Gordon huffed.

There was a brief silence, not even the stench of wet stone and human excretion from the tunnel could cut through the tension between them. Angie's arms seemed to sag and she gently placed her hands on Appa's shoulders.

"Gordon…no, Phillip. You can redeem yourself by giving this child what she deserves. I know a home with good people; find a nice family with nurturing parents. She'll be just fine if you would—"

"Nun'v that 'home' crap!" Appa slammed his fist against the wall, making the entire tunnel go silent.

After the awkward silence Appa cleared his throat, "Sorry…but baby girl ain't goin to no home."

One of the guys leaning on the side wall coughed a laugh, "Well, if you meant that girl I figured you'd have traded in already, she's long gone."

Appa and Angie snapped their heads towards the sheet. Nothing but murky air settled on the grimy fabric. Appa felt panic rise in his chest as he looked on both sides of the alley. It wasn't safe in the surrounding areas, not with the local gangs running amok. Especially the worst…_Venom_. The man pointed to the left tunnel and Appa started running, his rough voice calling out.

"Alice! _ALICE!_"

Appa fell as a rather dirty looking boy of about 23 rammed into his side, knocking himself over as well.

"Appa! It's Aunt Jessie!" the boy exclaimed.

The old man grunted as he sat up, "What about'er?"

The boy growled, "She's dead. Killed. I found her in the alleyway by the square. Holmes gave her a job and then she was gone. Figured she'd be back right? Told me to wait at the fountain. After an hour or so I go there and she's not back."

Appa felt panic and anger mix dangerously within his core, "Did ye see who'd done it?"

The boy shook his head, fire in his gaze, "I got there too late…the bastard didn't even close her eyes once it was done? What kind of asshole does that?!"

Angie came up behind the boy and led him to one of the others in the tunnel before returning to Appa.

"What shall you do?" She asked.

Appa growled and stood up, his old eyes glinting in fury, "I'm going to Baker Street."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

221b was the epitome of grave and eerie silence as Dr. Watson mulled over his blog once more, not really paying attention to its contents; simply giving his mind the option to either focus or wander off. It seemed his conscious was choosing the latter, seeing as his thoughts became fogged with his worries over their most recent case. Sherlock was down at Speedy's, waiting at what he stated was "obviously the moment with the highest probability of success at her return."

"Highest probability my ass." John snorted as he checked the time in the bottom right of his desktop, showing that it had been nearly an hour since Sherlock went downstairs.

The doctor shook his head and stood up, grabbing his coat. His lover might be a genius, but no matter how book smart the man was, when it came to common knowledge and unprecedented factors in his plans, the man was a walking time bomb. No doubt Sherlock would be steaming once John reached him.

He quickly scribbled a note down on a slip of paper warning Mrs. Hudson of Sherlock's inevitable bad mood before going outside.

John felt a harsh and sudden wind blow in his face, causing him to lose his balance and roughly run into a young man. The man dropped his groceries with a rather foul exclamation of displeasure.

"So sorry!" John immediately helped the man with his items, putting them into the bag, "Let me help you with that."

"Whatever man. Just watch where the hell you're walking next time!" The foul mouthed man roughly took his bags from John, a scowl on his face.

John did not easily forget a face, and one like this was even more unforgettable. The man was bald beneath his dark black hood. His face was scarred beneath the eyes, and a rather intricate green snake tattoo with haunting golden eyes that seemed to follow John even as the man walked away.

The doctor snapped his mind out of the reverie and was about to walk towards Speedy's when something caught his eye on the ground. It was a thin paper note that the man must have dropped. He quickly picked it up and tried to catch up with the man.

"Hey! You dropped this!"

The man didn't respond and quickly disappeared. John sighed and pocketed the piece of paper, maybe Holmes could use it for something, before returning to Speedy's and walking inside. Blinking in surprise, he saw Sherlock and a gruff looking man. He was old, and looked like a fisherman from hell considering the wild eyes he had and the slime covering him. John grew concerned as the man poked at Sherlock's chest.

"Listen 'ere Holmes! We bend our backs over for ye, and we ain't complianin'!" The man practically howled, making the rest of the customers look rather uncomfortable.

"I'm quite aware Mr. Gordon. Though the cause for this behavior towards me is a mystery you have yet to explain." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You know! You have to know! One of my boys saw you talkin' with'er an hour before findin'er there—"

John calmly, but with a firm grip that meant no-nonsense, placed a hand on this 'Gordon's shoulders, "I'm sure that we would be more than willing to discuss these matters and your accusations…but in a proper place. Let us move outside and away from prying ears, shall we?"

The man growled and gripped Sherlock's coat before pushing him away and turning towards the door, "Fine. Outside then Holmes."

Gordon slipped out the doors, looking like a broken man with nothing to lose. Sherlock went outside and motioned for John to follow. The waitress caught John by the shoulder and grinned, passing him a few coupons and such.

"You're a saint Doctor Watson, next meal is on the house."

He gave a rather sheepish grin and walked outside, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and darted his glare between John and the waitress, "What was she after then?"

"Merely being kind, she wanted to show her appreciation."

"I think it was more of your appearance she was appreciating than your deed, John." Sherlock snipped.

John smirked slightly, "Jealous are we?"

"Most definitely not. It makes no difference to me." Sherlock stated with a slight chill before turning to Gordon.

John felt a slight pang in his chest, but sighed and focused on the man before them. It wasn't anything new after all. In fact, John remembered what Sherlock said when they first woke up together and John ran a hand through his lover's hair: _Don't think of this more than it is John. It's merely chemical reactions. _

"So what exactly has brought your wrath upon me Mr. Gordon?" Sherlock asked, taking a seat in one of the two chairs of the outside table.

The man sniffed and started coughing briefly before speaking, "Oh, it ain't ye I'm upset with Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock's eye twitched at the disregard for grammar and John fought the urge to grin in amusement, "Then who, may I inquire, are you upset with?"

"I've got this boy ye see. He and his aunt stay in my path on an' off. Ye get it. She was seen talkin' to ye 'bout an hour before the boy found'er in the alley. Dead."

"The woman in the square?" John felt his eyes widen in surprise.

The man nodded and coughed again, "Shot."

"That's interesting." Sherlock smiled in a child-like excitement.

Gordon glared at the consulting detective and John smiled apologetically. Sherlock saw the exchange and looked to John.

"Not good?"

"Definite not good, Sherlock."

"She was a good one! Always able to lend a hand, but that ain't all of this mess." The man's speech seemed to improve slightly as he calmed down, "This morning I was walkin' down my usual way. An' I saw this girl just sittin' there by herself. Spittin' image of my daughter I'm tellin' ye. Same tanned skin and dark hair, same cold eyes. Kept cryin' for 'er mum she did. Poor babygirl. Then 'bout an hour or two later, she's gone! I need to find her Mr. Holmes. She walked right into places most grown men wouldn't bother runnin' through. Venom territory mostly."

"Venom?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Ay. Venom. A big gang, run by this weird lord. I'd only seen'm once, but once is all ye need. Bald head and that bloody tat on 'em." Gordon shivered, "Babygirl can't run into him. No way."

John leaned forward with slight panic, "A snake tattoo, green and yellow eyes curling around his jaw?"

Sherlock and Gordon blinked in surprise, the old man nodding, "That'd be the one."

"I just ran into him!" John leaned on Sherlock's chair for support, "Right as I was on my way here, the wind knocked me into his bags and I helped pick them up. He dropped this and I tried to catch him, but he disappeared."

John quickly pulled out the note and Sherlock snatched it up before frowning, "You should've ran faster John."

He unfurled the note and threw it on the table, blood stained one corner of it while ash tainted the others. John and Sherlock both recognized it, and Gordon recognized the name.

The note read: _Alice Project, age estimated around 10 or 11_, _hair color: dark brown, eye color; also brown, Race: Hispanic. Does not use names. Will be socially inept. Deliver to Speedys ASAP."_

"Seems we'll be seeing a lot more of eachother Mr. Gordon…seeing we've been looking for the same thing all along." Sherlock smirked slightly as the next phase in the case took hold.

But perhaps if the brilliant Mr. Holmes reminded himself of the first clue to this hair-raising case…the first and only clue provided by the killer herself, he would recall _4 people, plus one more_.

Four…and three were already dead.

A/N: Thanks for all who read this and put up with my jerky typing and such. Reviews make my guilt trips even worse so I have to type! XD


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